The Book of Erik
by Raven Sharpe
Summary: God and the Devil decide to place a bet. Can love exist despite ugliness? God says yes and creates the most beautiful soul, but the Devil says no and creates the body of a corpse. The story of our poor Erik told through the lens of the biblical Book of Job.
1. The Bet

_**Author's Note: Hmmm… it has been a few years, no? I apologize. I had not the time nor motivation to write. Now, at this point in my life, I have little to do so I am back to writing. I cannot say that this is a long-lasting thing, but we shall see.**_

 _ **First, welcome to my new story. It is intended to be short. Not quite a one shot, but not quite a full story. You see, it is more of a commentary. This leads me to my second point: this story is not religious commentary. It is a story about beauty and ugliness in humanity while using the characters of the Book of Job, namely God and the Devil, as some sort of third-party observers. If it comes across as anything but neutral, you must forgive me. It is not intended.**_

 _ **Thank you for reading and please, if you really like this story (or really hate it), leave me a review at the end of the chapter.**_

 _ **-Yours truly,**_  
 _ **Raven Sharpe**_

 _ **P.S. I am sorry about the formatting issues earlier. Baruga - thank you for alerting me. Thankfully, I have both internet and electricity today, so I was able to fix them quickly. If there are further issues, please tell me. I will try and fix them as quickly as I can (which may not be very quickly as I have moved to Tanzania and electricity works only most of the time.)**_

There came a day when God was sitting above admiring all of his creation. It was not perfect. He knew this, but He liked the slips of the cogs in the machine of the world. Secretly, he had been bored with the untiring rituals and perfection of heaven. There was nothing left to _do_ there. It was simply… perfect. And so he created Earth. He had created imperfection. Or maybe imperfection was inherent in something so complex. At first, he had started with the idea of perfection in mind, but at the very end, he had tossed a wrench in the system – free will. He sighed, remembering the implications of that one tiny wrench.

"Going senile, Old Man?" one of those imperfections sneered from behind him.

"Ah, Lucifer. It has been so long. How _did_ you manage to slip past the cherubim this time?"

"It is too easy to fool something so mechanical. No wonder you created these… _apes_."

"After so many millenia, you still do not understand. There is something beautiful about them in their fragility. Being born, slowly learning, loving, having children, and then passing softly on."

"… and in their violence? Need I remind you of the Khan?"

God sighed again. "That is your side of things. The ugliness of it all. But… I think that ugliness may have to exist for beauty to shine even more exquisitely."

Lucifer grunted. "Personally, I don't believe you or the lumps of mud. Do you really think that if one was created so ugly that… oh, what do those flea-bitten things say… ah! 'he had a face not even a mother could love,' that he would really be allowed to exist in a beautiful world."

"As the humans say, 'love is blind.' I think I prefer that proverb."

"Yesssss… but – do you really believe it?"

God finally turned to look at Lucifer. He was looking no worse for the wear. The past centuries and the invention of gunpowder had certainly made his work easier. If it hadn't been against the rules, he would have thought that Lucifer had been the one to give the French plans to make the guillotine. Finally, he heaved another, deeper sigh. "What is it that you want, Lucifer?"

"Merely a bet… a wager. I create a man as hideous as I possibly can, and you create a soul as beautiful as you can. We see whether or not someone can truly love him."

"Hmm… simple enough. And what are we betting?"

"I believe there's still some countries that are ambiguous territory," Lucifer nonchalantly suggested.

God pondered for a second. "Done. Maybe you will finally see the beauty of my creations."

"And maybe you will finally see their ugliness."

And so it went. Lucifer sculpted the ugliest human being that could still possibly be alive and God went to work shaping a sensitive, intelligent, and musical soul, filling it with all that was beautiful.

Together they decided on a religious servant girl in Rouen, France. God had not wanted the child to be born into wealth and have no chance at a loving wife, while the devil thought with glee that their creation was not only illegitimate, but the son of a servant girl.


	2. The Boy

And so it was that Madeleine of Rouen came to give birth to the duke's illegitimate son. The duchess (who was busy with having affairs or her own with much younger men) did not even notice that yet another of their young, pretty servant girls was with child. You see, this was not exactly rare in the duchess's household. It was no secret that the duke and his wife were not on the most friendly of terms. They had not even one child to show for their marriage. It was whispered that the duke and duchess had coupled only once – their wedding night as a mere formality

Madeline, however, was panicked. Briefly, she thought of ridding herself of the pregnancy, but, deeply religious, decided that there must be a reason God had given her this child. And so she felt a mix of dread and joy as she felt the child stir within her. As her ninth month drew near, the elderly matron housekeeper, shooed her out of the house and sent her to live in a small isolated cottage on the very edge of Rouen, for even though the child was illegitimate, the duke had found it in his heart to provide for his offspring.

God and the Devil watched with rapt attention as the child was finally pushed into the world in that lone cottage. God's face paled as he saw the Devil's handiwork. It was indeed the ugliest thing to ever be pushed out of any womb alive or dead. It did not even have a nose. He had thought the devil would maybe make a man with too small of eyes or uncontrollable warts, but this was so much worse. The devil had woven death into the skin of this child. But then it opened its mouth and the purest cry emanated from that toothless cavern. The angels stopped their hosannas to stare at the new voice in awe. God smiled. This would surely make up for the child's lack of… well, a nose for starters. Both God and the Devil felt a surge of confidence that each of their work was superior to the other's.

But Madeline looked on the face of her new babe with horror. She decided that this babe must be a punishment from God but even to kill it out of mercy would be to great a sin. And so, with great disgust, she brought the child to suckle at her breast. She covered its face so that she would not have to look at the corpse that now drank from her. She considered her sin of laying with the duke – a married man. Maybe this child was her punishment for this adultery. God and the Devil watched as every time she fed the babe, she had to pause, to stop herself from purging.

There were no visitor's to Madeline's cottage in the forest. Rumors had spread that the former maid had given birth to a demon. Conversations quieted as Madeline passed by in town to buy food. Every time she returned to the cottage, her eyes were wet from tears, for isolation is the worst punishment that man can inflict on his fellow man.

Time passed and the child grew. Madeline neglected to give him a name as if a name would make him more real – more human. God watched with dismay as the child was isolated and abused. Surely His humans had more compassion than this. His heart broke a little more with each passing day.

In the boy's seventh year, he was reading one of Madeline's books of fairy tales and looked up at her and asked, "Madeline (for he was not allowed to call her mother), why are the step-sisters ugly?"

"Because they are villains. They are evil. That is why they are ugly. Evil things are always ugly."

"Does that mean I am a villain?" his sweet boyish voice asked.

"Shut up!" She ripped the book from his hands and smacked him across the face so hard that his mask flew off into the corner. "Pick it up!" she screeched pointing at the mask. "You are never to go without your mask, you know that!"

The boy scurried over to the corner and snatched the mask up and ran off to his room in hopes to escape a further beating.

The Devil grinned. "See? Even his own mother is convinced that he is an unlovable villain."

God grimaced. He could not argue this point. With all the love that he had instilled in motherhood, it was not enough to overlook this poor boy's face.

The crops were bad the boy's fifth year. No rain had fallen that summer and the weak seedlings wilted and died under the harsh sun. The villagers grew thinner. The priest began looking for something to blame the drought on that would renew the people's faith and reinvigorate his coffers. He remembered the sad product of Madeline's infidelity and started to preach against the boy. Sermons rang out about the evils that devils brought to the village. The people, thus incited, grabbed their pitchforks and torches that very night and marched to the small cottage amongst the trees.

The house caught fire as the dry beams burned like tinder. The boy had been out one of his nighttime explorations and watched with horror as yellow and orange tongues of flame consumed the house. Madeline's screams came from within the house as the fire ate away at her as well. Villagers circled the house making sure that nothing escaped the fire's wrath. The boy choked on tears as he ran from the cottage as quickly as he could, knowing in some deep recess of his mind that his life now depended on the swiftness of his feet.

Tears ran down God's face as he watched the boy flee. They salted the earth there. Nothing grows there – even now after so many years. It is a desolate place now – a shadow of its former self.

The dismal gray light of dawn found the boy exhausted, his tears spent and his small form drenched in the previous night's rain. He wearily looked around and found an old oak tree with a small cavern at its base. He crawled in and covered himself with bark, praying that the villagers would not find him there.

He did not remember how long he had slept, just that when he awoke, he felt warm, yet shivers were racking his thin body. He crawled out of his hiding place and was met with the dimming light of the setting sun. He crawled only a little ways out of the tree and then passed out again, sprawled out on the forest floor. He could not even move to hide again as a man gathering firewood approached. The man nearly tripped over the small boy. He turned him over and tilted his head in confusion over the small cloth mask that covered the boy's face. He pried it from he boy's face and then promptly vomited. If he had not felt the heat emanating from the boy's skin, he would have thought him dead for at least a few weeks. But no – the boy's chest rose and fell.

God and the Devil watched in anticipation as the man grabbed the small boy and tossed him over his shoulder like the firewood he had been carrying earlier. Neither wanted their bet to finish so quickly. Surely seven years was not enough to satisfactorily prove the other wrong.

The man approached a gypsy camp and brought the child to the matriarch. "What have ye brought me now, Joseph? Better be good..."

"With respect, I present our newest attraction to our humble traveling fair." he uncovered the child's face.

The matriarch, unfazed, stared impatiently at Joseph. "That is a corpse. Get it out of my tent before it starts to stink."

"But he is not dead. See – his chest rises and falls. He is merely ill."

The matriarch considered for a moment. "It lives?"

"Yes! See how he burns with fever. If we could make him well again, then maybe..."

"Yes, he would make a passable addition to my fair… Very well. Take around to the animal cages. I will send the healer." She dismissed Joseph with a wave of her hand.

He hoisted the child up and carried him around to an empty cage. God's relief turned to horror as he realized that the child had merely left one hell for another.

"See how they will help him live, but only for a price?" the Devil pointed out. "Maybe it is good that he is so ugly. If he wasn't of use to them, I think they would've left him to die, and then where would we be?"

True to the matriarch's words, an old woman hobbled towards the cage, threadbare satchel and smooth, worn walking stick. Joseph stepped away from the cage, not wishing to get in the way of the ornery old lady.

"You pick up another stray dog, eh?"

"No, ma'am I -"

"Ach! No good. This one's already dead. You blind, boy?"

"No. He's not dead yet. Look closer," Joseph dragged the boy closer.

The matron poked at the boy with her stick. He moaned. Her eyebrows raised. "Bloody hell, he's not..." She opened the satchel and pulled out small jars of foul-smelling powders and goops. A bowl was produced and she started crumbling leaves here, adding a drop of liquid there and old pestle crushed and mixed the strange soup. She muttered irritably over the mixture, looking up at the boy now and then. Lastly, she took a flask from her hip, drank half of it and poured the other half into the bowl.

"Hold 'im. This won't taste pleasant," she chuckled darkly.

Joseph held the boy up and opened his mouth. The old lady poured the mixture down the boy's throat. The boy's eyes shot open and he started to struggle.

"Now, now. All of it."

Joseph held the boy as she finished feeding him the stinking, black mess. As soon as she finished, he passed out yet again.

"Now. Give 'im a blanket and I'll be back in the morning." She poked the boy with her walking stick again and stalked off. Joseph slank off to his own nearby tent and grabbed a holey, moth-eaten blanket. He tossed over the little boy's form and shuffled off in search of a new bottle of gin.

God looked with pity down on the boy's shivering form and summoned the angel Raphael. "Raphael, O angel of healing, go down there to the gypsy camp. Give him this," he plucked out a small green vial out of his jacket pocket. "This will insure his healing from now on. He will heal faster." He looked over to Lucifer. "This will not be against the rules, right?"

Lucifer shrugged. "On the contrary. I think it is an excellent idea. I think he will need it in the future. I would hate for our project to die from something other than natural causes. I want my victory to be clear." He reclined on a darkening storm cloud.

"Go with speed then, Raphael." The archangel nodded and took wing, and flew swiftly down to the unconscious child. Gently humming, Raphael sat next the boy and gently laid his head on his lap. He uncorked he liquid and gently poured it into the boys mouth, helping him swallow. The boy opened his eyes weakly and squinted up at Raphael. "Angel?" he asked.

"Hush now, and sleep child," Raphael answered.

The child's eyes drifted closed and he slept with a deep peace.

-←-←-((0))

 **Ah… my dear readers. I feel I must apologize for the wait. Electricity has been pretty shady here. I think after this chapter, I will have to up the rating. I'm still not sure if it'll be T or M – I need to check the guidelines. Probably M. Erik's life is not warm and loving. In all of the versions f POTO that I've come across, it is anything but gentle. So, the rating will go up.**

 **Please leave me a review. I love to read your thoughts on this story.**

 **Love from Tanzania,**

 **Raven Sharpe**

 **Posted 11/08/2015**


	3. The Devil's Child

**I received a wonderful review from Grandma Paula.** **She commented that she was not interested in yet another story of blow by blow abuse of a small deformed child. I sat and thought about this for a very long time. I sat and thought and thought and sat some more. After all, the bad parts of Erik's life seem as integral as the good… I could not just whitewash them out of the story. But yet, she has a point.** **I forget sometimes that you are not used to seeing such things,** **and t** **hat some of you are just becoming adults.** **And so I sat and thought about my dilemma.**

 **I stared up at my ceiling and finally realized that this story is not being written for you, dear reader. It is being written for me. I merely wanted to share it with whomever wished to read it. I write this story not for your sake, but for my as a sort of therapy or stress release. I realized that the story must contain these things, not for the stories sake, as a way for me to talk about sins I'll probably never be able to really talk about. I realize I might lose some of you. I'm O.K. with this. I just want you to realize that this story has never been intended as a litany of spoiled slop, jeering crowds, and beatings. It is about the formation of a man, seen by many as a villain, few as a genius, and one as an angel. It is about both human evil and the uplifting power of love.**

 **All this being said, I did up the rating, but** **I** **have** **also** **marked out particularly bad sections of the story that you are free to skip over if you wish. So, without further ado… The Book of Er** **i** **k.**

The boy woke up in the morning, pondering this new idea. This wonderful dream. He had felt something… he couldn't put a name on it. He curled up in the middle of his cage and savored every detail, committing it to memory. The long, dark curls of hair that had dusted his face. The warmth and softness of the lap he had laid his head upon. The deep green eyes, shining with compassion. White feathery wings that had encircled them both, keeping them from the bitter cold. The white gown that pooled around them, providing a soft bed away from the itching, bug-infested straw. A gentle smile lifted the tatters of his cheeks. The tendons stretched underneath transparent and thin skin.

Joseph banged his stick against the bars of the cage, breaking the boy's reverie. He wrinkled his nose. "Is that a smile? Jesus, you're ugly."

The boy shrank to the far corner of the cage, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the fat man unlocking his cage. "Now. Lemme explain this to you. I found our miserable, sick ass in the forest and saved our sorry skin. This makes you mine. Understand."

"I belong to no one."

 **/M-Rated Part Begins**

"You idiot," Joseph grunted through clenched teeth. "I guess I'll have to teach you your first lesson." He reached behind his back and unhooked a whip. He readjusted his pants and slowly unrolled the bullwhip. He cracked it off to the side and slowly approached the boy.

The boy looked up at him defiantly. Joseph felt the heat of anger and twinge of shame rise through his chest. He lifted the black leather and flicked it down across the crossed arms that protected the boy. The boy cried out at the sudden pain and watched horrified as a small line of blood escaped his pale arm.

"Stand."

The boy narrowed his eyes and set his mouth. "No."

Joseph grunted and grabbed the boy's arm and yanked the boy to his feet. He pushed the boy's front up against the bars of the cage. The boy hissed and struggled, but could not escape the grasp of a man at least thirty years his senior. The man tucked the whip into his belt and reached up to the collar of the boy's dirty, homespun shit and ripped it, rending the boy's back bare. He reached back to the belt for the whip. The whip licked at the boy's back, pulling cries from his mouth and blood from the new cuts on his back. It took only a few strokes to bring the small boy to his knees. He collapsed into the filthy bedding, with the freak master standing tall over him.

"Now maybe you be a stupid animal, but I been known to teach them too. I own you. You'll do what I want. You'll perform for these crowds and pull in the crowds to see your hideous face," He grimaced. "Yes, you'll be makin' me some good money boy."

Joseph slowly re-wrapped the long, black bullwhip and tucked it back into his belt. He tapped the boy's bleeding ribs to make sure that he was still breathing and received an affirmative grunt for his efforts. He turned and climbed out of the cage, locking it as he went. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard the boy one last time say, "I belong to no one."

 **/M-Rated Part Ends**

God turned on his heel and stalked away, unable to watch anymore. He walked towards heaven's garden. He brushed his hands along the shrubbery. There was no worry of scratching his hands on thorns. No thorns graced the stems of the everlasting flowers. The flowers of heaven neither opened nor closed, forever frozen in eternal colorful beauty. The landscape was painted with elegant greens, royal blues and purples, delicate pinks and whites, and vibrant reds. Some were twisted into elegant knots, while others were left sprawling lazily over the fertile ground. The delicate wind stirred the small bells that where hung here and there, filling the air with music. Wide, flat, brown stones surrounded by short grass carpets formed pathways that wound their way through the vast gardens. White benches and arbors adorned the stone pathways. Octagonal gazebos stood on spindly white legs providing shade. Small ponds teeming with glittering koi and crowned with lily pads and colorful lotuses promised peace and rest. God walked along, scrutinizing each blossom until he came across until he came across Lucifer sitting on a bench, eating a sandwich, watching the fish.

"A pulled pork sandwich, Lucifer? You know how I hate the taste of pork."

"You are missing out… this stuff is great. Just wait until they figure out how to make bacon."

God shuddered. "So, why are you profaning my garden with… this?" he gestured at the remains of the Devil's sandwich.

"Just taking a rest from watching our little project. How is he doing, by the way? The gypsies treating him with _humanity_?"

God grunted and looked towards the golden fish in the pond. He reached over and ripped some of the bread off the Devil's sandwich and tossed it towards the fish in small pieces. The large, whiskered mouths of the fish hungrily devoured the small pieces of bread. God and the Devil sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the fish.

"Why do you think they do this?" God asked quietly.

Lucifer shrugged. "Free will? Boredom? Maybe there is something innate in them. They are imperfect. You know this. You created them like that. You thought it would be interesting."

God put his head in his hands. Silence reigned for a long time. Then God spoke again, quietly. "I thought that I had put enough goodness into them. I thought… but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I made a mistake. Like you." He gestured towards Satan.

Lucifer started in on his sandwich again. Languidly licking the crumbs from his long fingers, he asked quietly, "Now, was I _really_ a mistake?"

God stood angrily and left the Devil sitting alone. He stalked the vast gardens, loosing himself in rich, sweet scents and soft flowers, drowning the doubts that the Devil had planted in His mind with the vast beauty of His gardens. He slowly contemplated how He would tighten security there in heaven. He could add more guards and seal up more of the entrances, but, in the end, the problem with heaven is that it worked like a machine. And the Devil, as much as he denied it was much like his dear, imperfect creations: able to outsmart such a mechanical system. Slowly, He sighed and started to meander back towards the edge of heaven. He sat cross-legged on the edge of the clouds and looked down.

He realized that years had passed while He was in his reverie. Time indeed did pass differently in heaven. Indeed, an entire year on Earth passed as quickly as a day in heaven.

He looked down at the boy. The Devil's Child sat, awake and alone in his small cage. A small bowl of stew sat next to him, untouched. Despite obvious malnutrition, God noticed that his limbs were gaining the gangly length of approaching adolescence. Scars criss-crossed his back, some silvery and thin, some thick and angry red. He was curled up in the defensive stance that he had been in the first time Joseph had come to… to… God looked away. The boy's eyes held something different now. Gone was childish longing and hope. Now there was a disconcerting certainty to them – a sort of hardness or determination. God thought long and hard. At least the boy's soul still lived and was not long dead like his fellow freaks. But still… his soul… it glinted a dangerous dark gray. It was the gray of an approaching storm or the barrel of a gun… At least there was still hope of the young man being free once more. He could hardly find love from inside a cage as he was.

He watched the caravan as they traveled north, finally boarding a ferry to the British Isles to exhibit their fair to new audiences. The youth seemed to pick up the language quickly as he had with the other languages of Europe - even if the first words he understood were insults and expressions of horror…

The storm finally broke one night as the boy performed yet another show. This particular show had been set just outside of the city of London and had been widely successful. Liquor flowed like water that night and the crying violins of the gyspies sang out as the gypsy girls spun colorful skirts like tropical flowers amongst the firelight.

 **/M-Rated Part Begins**

Joseph stumbled drunkenly towards the Devil's Child's cage. The youth sat in his habitual corner. It was strange, no matter what country he was in, whether warm or cold, raining or cold, he sat in that corner, always silent and still. He did not even look up as his tormenter entered his cage. He no longer felt the pain anyways. He had embrace pain like an old friend and no longer let himself cry out as Joseph beat him. Joseph kicked him.

"Geddup, animal..."

God felt something solidify in the boy's soul. He looked up at Joseph. "You know, I'd think you'd understand after all these years, you oaf…" he paused and then continued, slowly and delibrately enunciating every syllable. " _I do not belong to you._ "

One of his long legs whipped out from his crouched figure and knocked Joseph's legs from underneath him. He stood, finally, tall and proud. Joseph reached for his whip, but the youth was quicker than the aging man and pressed a bony heel into Joseph's palm, relishing the feeling of the small bones popping underneath his foot. He reached down and grabbed the whip. Joseph grabbed the boy's knees felling him as well. He pounded the boy's ugly face a few times, but the boy had hold of his whip and quickly wrapped it around the old man's neck. Joseph, realized, on limited oxygen, that this was a fight to the death, struck out with everything he had. Grubby fingernails scratched at gray flesh and elbows jabbed into protruding ribs, but he was getting old. His vision was going black around the edges and he no longer had the energy to fight. Slowly, he relaxed into death's embrace.

The place where the man's soul had been tore at the boy's soul. He gasped at the feeling. He tilted his head back tasting the feeling. God and the Devil watched, holding their breath, waiting. Finally, the Devil's Child's face relaxed, and a smile grew, exposing sharp, discolored teeth.

 **/M-Rated Part Ends**

God's head fell into his hands. His tears, like the boy's were long ago cried out.

"You see know," the Devil commented with a smile on his face. "He will always be the villain. Just like those fairy tales of theirs. The ugly ones are _always_ the villain."

"What have I done? Have I condemned him to a life of villainy? Did he have a choice? He must have. Why do they always choose wrong? Why, Lucifer?"

"You think there is choice even here? You created a machine, albeit a broken one. You think your monkeys are special? No. You merely created angels again, just… corrupted ones. You see, I am no more 'evil' than them..."

God sat silently then, watching as the boy took the keys from the dead gypsy's belt, unlocking the cage, and climbing out. He looked about quickly and seeing a torch, grabbed it and started tents and cages on fire, laughing maniacally. Insane laughter danced through the crackling and burning forest. The torch long forgotten behind him, the boy ran and ran dancing and skipping and whooping as he went.

 **My reader, who art out in the world, hallowed be thy reviews. Thy words do come, thy chapters be done, on FanFiction so long as I have electricity. Give me this day, a chapter's review and forgive me my lateness as my laptop charger melted, for thine is the update, the chapter, and the author's note forever.**

 **Amen**

 **Posted 11-23-2015**


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